


A Lick Of Paint

by allegheny



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: 2019 MLB Season, Character Study, Cincinnati Reds, Gen, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/pseuds/allegheny
Summary: We get listless and worn with ageI can see it now, there’s a crack in the paintJoey's getting up there. Soon, he'll be a veteran liability.





	A Lick Of Paint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [throwaway414](https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwaway414/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [boysofsummer19](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer19) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Just anything with Joey worrying about ageing. Like how it's affecting his play, how much younger the other guys on the reds are, etc. Could include some h/c but anything is fine

_There is time_  
_So take some rest_  
_Don’t worry too much_  
_It can be repaired_

"Fuck sake!"

Joey slams his bat down against the dirt as he watches the ball fly into a routine out in right field. The ump gives him the look, so he picks the bat up and scrambles. Even if he's seemingly unable to hit today — god fucking damn it, he needs to be better — he can't leave the guys without a first baseman. They have enough hotheads on this team. No need to layer it on. Come on, Joey.

He stomps down the dugout steps, dropping the bat into the rack, and goes to lean onto the rail, watching Suarez step into the box, trying to calm himself down. It's not worth it. It's not worth it. Relax, Joey. Relax. He has to focus on next half inning and the next at-bat.  
He can't be behaving like some sort of short-fused rookie. He has to set an example. With all these kids around. Because, as strange as it feels, as quick as time has seemingly passed, he's the veteran now.

He never really fancied himself a leader, or a mentor, if he's being honest. He'd never had the mental constitution for it, never had enough spare energy to think of himself as anything more than a gigantic exercise in self-salvation.  
But, inevitably, the role invited itself upon him, inexorable like yet another sign of age. Crow's feet, body stiffness, lowered reaction time, and the intrinsic personal duty to help others get across obstacles he'd himself had to overcome.

Oh, that makes it sound like it's a chore, like he doesn't like it.  
Well, he thinks as he watches Suarez strike out, it isn't exactly easy.  
He's a loner ; by nature, he keeps to himself, and he just enjoys his own company. That's just who he is, and how it's always been. His teammates have always known that he wasn't the guy they wanted to ask to hang out with. Everybody knew what was going on with him. He wasn't great in the head. Besides, he had his routine ; it was to remain undisturbed.

He knows — knew, really — what it looked like. It made him look selfish, intimidating, unwilling to help. The stoic star with a big contract, too absorbed in himself to share the sources of his success with his teammates. Looking back on it, an all these losing teams, in all these bad clubhouses, maybe opening up would have helped. Maybe it would have changed something — though he highly doubts it. Some things can't be helped. Some disasters are too far gone.

The point is that sometimes, you have to act in self-preservation.  
On one hand, when you're trying to keep your head above water, just trying so hard to survive the great hurricane that is yourself, there's no time, no consideration for rescuing others.  
On the other, in cases like his, _l'enfer c'est les autres._

One thing Joey had taught himself very early on, as a quiet teenager with a secret never to be told: if people don't know you, they can't know about you. And if they don't know about you, they can't hurt you. The best love you can offer yourself may have to be your own heart.  
And you'll have to be okay with it.  
Joey had been lucky on that side of things. Life had let him loosen his fears, cities had taken him under their wing, people had been entrusted with the truth, and his real self was little more than an unspoken open door anymore. But the rule had remained, relaxed by jurisdiction yet a constant in his core. Teammates were, as a guideline, better kept at arm's length.

But this isn't about him anymore, he has to face it. This is about the team.  
He's a realist, if anything. He knows he soon may not be the sure and dominant presence he once was. He can and will adapt, of course, become a different kind of player and stay relevant, stay valuable, round it all off, but when he looks at all the talent on this bench... He will be supplanted. And if he wants to leave a lasting legacy, leave his lifelong team better than it was when he joined it, thank this city for the way it treated him, he needs to help shape the Cincinnati ballplayers of tomorrow. That's the least he can do, and he knows it.

The rest of the dugout suddenly explodes, and Joey, with delayed reaction, jumps up straight, watching the ball exit into the stands as Dietrich rounds first. He yells and hollers and claps with the others, welcoming Derek down the stairs with a clap on the back.

The thing is, he really doesn't feel old right now. He's rarely been part of teams this fun : if anything, they make him feel younger.  
Watching Derek dance with Geno further down the dugout, if he thinks about it, he never really got to be that young, that careless. You don't _get_ to be that when you're a young gay man with anxiety and depression trying to make it in the Majors. He doesn't remember enjoying himself by any stretch when he was their age. It was all about baseball, and struggling through the rest of the day, alone, knowing the companionship he needed wasn't an option.  
Maybe everything that happened robbed him of his youth. Sometimes he feels cheated that all he can remember of his peak years are panic attacks, crushing depression, and a battery of stats. That all he has left are journals full of thoughts of death and a plaque he couldn't even show to a man he never did tell the truth about him to.

But then... well, then he watches the boys hug, and he watches the boys cry, and laugh, and goof around and sit alone in corners and it really all hits him.  
He _wants_ to help. Wants to give these kids what he didn't get to have. What he didn't let himself have.  
Hell, maybe he can have it all now, everything he missed out on. The camaraderie, the fraternity. The silliness, all the antics. He probably won't ever be the kind of extrovert, say, Dietrich is. But maybe it's not too late.

He's tired of hearing the game doesn't have a place for ageing veterans; he's tired of telling himself that. After all, the game was never supposed to have a place for an anxious gay kid, either.  
Yet here he is.  
There's no saying what will happen after baseball, if his head will catch up to him, what he can be after all of this, regardless of the plans he made. But while he's in it, he wants to taste all of it, wants to try everything.

He wants to make his own path, in spite of it all. He wants to walk outside his comfort zone. He wants to fight his own doubts.  
He wants to make everybody proud — himself included.  
And he will do it all. Uncompromisingly himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I know I said I would combine the Votto fic about his connection with cincinnati/being gay with this one, but I didn't. It just didn't fit right. Next time I guess. 
> 
> Title and lyrics from A Lick Of Paint by Frightened Rabbit.  
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> **Yo, pls leave a comment if you liked it!**


End file.
